WATER 
BALLADS 

MASEFIELD 


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LIBRARY 

UNIVBRSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SANMEGO 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

OF 
LA  JOLU,  CALIFO 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 

MRS.   LEO  HERZ 


SALT-WATER  BALLADS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
DALLAS  •    ATLANTA   •    SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   -CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ln>. 

TORONTO 


SALT-WATER 
BALLADS 


BY 

JOHN    MASEFIELD 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1916 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Publishea  September,  1913 
Reprinted  April,    1915.    January,  1916. 


Some  of  this  book  was  written  in  my  boyhood, 
all  of  it  in  my  youth ;  it  is  now  re-issued,  much 
as  it  was  when  first  published  nearly  eleven 
years  ago.  *•  M> 

9th  June  1913 


CONTENTS 

PACB 

A  CONSECRATION 

Not  of  the  princes  and  prelates  with  peri- 
wigged charioteers    .....          I 

THE  YARN  OF  THE  'LOCH  ACHRAY' 

The  'Loch  Achray'  was  a  clipper  tall      .        .          3 

SING  A  SONG  O'  SHIPWRECK 

He  lolled  on  a  bollard,  a  sun-burned  son  of 

the  sea      .  7 

BURIAL  PARTY 

'He's  deader  'n  nails,'  the  fo'c's'le  said,  "n* 

gone  to  his  long  sleep'      .         .         .         .        n 

BILL 

He  lay  dead  on  the  cluttered  deck  and  stared 

at  the  cold  skies 14 

FEVER  SHIP 

There'll  be  no  weepin'  gells  ashore  when  our 

ship  sails  ......         IS 

vii 


viii  SALT-WATER   BALLADS 

PAGE 

FEVER-CHILLS 

He  tottered  out  of  the  alleyway  with  cheeks 

the   colour  of  paste          ....        17 

ONE  OF  THE  BO'SUN'S  YARNS 

Loafin'  around  in  Sailor  Town,  a-bluin'  o'  my 
advance 19 

HELL'S  PAVEMENT 

'When  I'm  discharged  in  Liverpool  'n'  draws 

my  bit  o'  pay' 25 

SEA-CHANGE 

'Goneys  an'  gullies  an'  all  o'  the  birds  o'  the 
sea' 27 

HARBOUR-BAR 

All  in  the  feathered  palm-tree  tops  the  bright 

green  parrots  screech         ....         29 

THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

An'  Bill  can  have  my  sea-boots,  Nigger  Jim 

can  have  my  knife     .....        31 

ONE  OF  WALLY'S  YARNS 

The  watch  was  up  on  the  topsail-yard  a-mak- 

ing  fast  the  sail 33 


CONTENTS  ix 

A  VALEDICTION  (LIVERPOOL  DOCKS) 

Is  there  anything  as  I  can  do  ashore  for  you        35 

A  NIGHT  AT  DAGO  TOM'S 

Oh  yesterday,   I  t'ink  it  was,  while  cruisin' 

down  the  street 38 

TORT  OF  MANY  SHIPS' 

'It's  a  sunny  pleasant  anchorage,  is  Kingdom 

Come' 40 

CAPE  HORN  GOSPEL— I 

'I  was  in  a  hooker  once,'  said  Karlssen        .        42 

CAPE  HORN  GOSPEL— II 

Jake  was  a  dirty  Dago  lad,  an'  he  gave  the 

skipper  chin 45 

MOTHER  CAREY 

Mother    Carey?      She's    the    mother    o'    the 

witches 48 

EVENING— REGATTA  DAY 

Your   nose   is   a   red   jelly,   your   mouth's    a 

toothless  wreck         .....        50 


x  SALT-WATER   BALLADS 

PACK 

A  VALEDICTION 

We're  bound  for  blue  water  where  the  great 

winds  blow .53 

A  PIER-HEAD  CHORUS 

Oh,  I'll  be  chewing  salted  horse  and  biting 

flinty  bread 54 

THE  GOLDEN  CITY  OF  ST.  MARY 

Out  beyond  the  sunset,  could  I  but  find  the 

way 56 

TRADE  WINDS 

In  the  harbour,  in  the  island,  in  the  Spanish 

Seas 58 

SEA-FEVER 

I  must  down  to  the  seas  again,  to  the  lonely 

sea  and  the  sky         .....         59 

A  WANDERER'S  SONG 

A  wind's  in  the  heart  >o'  me,  a  fire's  in  my 

heels 61 

CARDIGAN  BAY 

Clean,  green,  windy  billows  notching  out  the 

sky 63 


CONTENTS  xi 

PAOB 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  SEA 

A  wind  is  rustling  'south  and  soft'         .         .        64 

A  BALLAD  OF  CAPE  ST.  VINCENT 

Now,  Bill,  ain't  it  prime  to  be  a-sailin'         .        66 

THE  TARRY  BUCCANEER 

I'm  going  to  be  a  pirate  with  a  bright  brass 

pivot-gun 68 

A  BALLAD  OF  JOHN  SILVER 

We  were  schooner-rigged  and  rakish,  with  a 

long  and  lissome  hull  7r 

LYRICS  FROM  'THE  BUCCANEER' 

I. — We  are  far  from  sight  of  the  harbour 

lights         ...  ...        74 

II. — There's  a  sea-way  somewhere  where  all 

day  long 75 

III. — The    toppling    rollers    at    the    harbour 

mouth 76 

D'AVALOS'  PRAYER 

When  the  last  sea  is  sailed  and  the  last  shal- 
low charted 77 

THE  WEST  WIND 

It's  a  warm  wind,  the  west  wind,  full  of  birds' 

cries  .......        79 

THE  GALLEY-ROWERS 

Staggering  over  the  running  combers      .         .        82 


xii  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

PAGB 

SORROW  OF  MYDATH 

Weary  the  cry  of  the  wind  is,  weary  the  sea        84 

VAGABOND 

Dunno  a  heap  about  the  what  an'  why         .        85 

VISION 

I  have  drunken  the  red  wine  and  flung  the 

dice  .......        86 

SPUNYARN 

Spunyarn,   spunyarn,   with  one   to   turn   the 

crank         .......        88 

THE  DEAD  KNIGHT 

The  cleanly  rush  of  the  mountain  air  .        89 

PERSONAL 

Tramping   at  night  in  the  cold  and   wet,   I 

passed  the  lighted  inn       ....        91 

ON  MALVERN  HILL       , 

A  wind  is  brushing  down  the  clover      .         .        92 

TEWKESBURY  ROAD 

It  is  good  to  be  out  on  the  road,  and  going 

one  knows  not  where        ....        94 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PAGE 

ON  EASTNOR  KNOLL 

Silent   are   the   woods,    and    the    dim   green 

boughs  are 96 

'REST  HER  SOUL,  SHE'S  DEAD!' 

She  has  done  with  the  sea's  sorrow  and  the 

world's  way          .....         97 

'ALL  YE  THAT  PASS  BY' 

On  the  long  dusty  ribbon  of  the  long  city 

street 99 

IN  MEMORY  OF  A.  P.  R. 

Once  in  the  windy  wintry  weather    .         .       101 

TO-MORROW 

Oh    yesterday    the    cutting    edge    drank 

thirstily  and  deep         ....       102 

CAVALIER 

All  the  merry  kettle-drums  are  thudding 

into  rhyme    ......       104 

A  SONG  AT  PARTING 

The  tick  of  the  blood  is  settling  slow,  my 

heart  will  soon  be  still        .         .         .       106 

GLOSSARY    .  109 


'The  mariners  are  a  pleasant  people,  but  little 
like  those  in  the  towns,  and  they  can  speak  no 
other  language  than  that  used  in  ships.' 

The  Licentiate  Vidriera. 


A   CONSECRATION 

i 

NOT  of  the  princes  and  prelates  with  periwigged 

charioteers 
Riding  triumphantly  laurelled  to  lap  the  fat  of  the 

years, — 
Rather  the  scorned — the  rejected — the  men  hemmed 

in  with  the  spears; 

The  men  of  the  tattered  battalion  which  fights  till 
it  dies, 

Dazed  with  the  dust  of  the  battle,  the  din  and  the 
cries, 

The  men  with  the  broken  heads  and  the  blood  run- 
ing  into  their  eyes. 

Not  the  be-medalled  Commander,  beloved  of  the 

throne, 
Riding  cock-horse  to  parade  when  the  bugles  are 

blown, 
But  the  lads  who  carried  the  koppie  and  cannot  be 

known. 

i 


*  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

Not  the  ruler  for  me,  but  the  ranker,  the  tramp  of 

the  road. 
The  slave  with  the  sack  on  his  shoulders  pricked  on 

with  the  goad, 
The  man  with  too  weighty  a  burden,  too  weary  a 

load. 

The  sailor,  the  stoker  of  steamers,  the  man  with  the 
clout, 

The  chantyman  bent  at  the  halliards  putting  a  tune 
to  the  shout, 

The  drowsy  man  at  the  wheel  and  the  tired  look- 
out. 

Others  may  sing  of  the  wine  and  the  wealth  and  the 

mirth, 

The  portly  presence  of  potentates  goodly  in  girth; — 
Mine  be  the  dirt  and  the  dross,  the  dust  and  scum  of 

the  earth! 

THEIRS  be  the  music,  the  colour,  the  glory,  the  gold; 
Mine  be  a  handful  of  ashes,  a  mouthful  of  mould. 
Of  the  maimed,  of  the  halt  and  the  blind  in  the  rain 
and  the  cold — 

Of  these  shall  my  songs  be  fashioned,  my  tales  be 
told.  AMEN. 


THE   YARN   OF   THE   'LOCH   ACHRAY'      3 


THE  YARN  OF  THE  'LOCH  ACHRAY' 

THE  'Loch  Achray'  was  a  clipper  tall 

With  seven-and-twenty  hands  in  all. 

Twenty  to  hand  and  reef  and  haul, 

A  skipper  to  sail  and  mates  to  bawl 

'Tally  on  to  the  tackle-fall, 

Heave  now  'n'  start  her,  heave  'n'  pawl !' 
Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 
An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 

Her  crew  were  shipped  and  they  said  'Farewell, 

So-long,  my  Tottie,  my  lovely  gell ; 

We  sail  to-day  if  we  fetch  to  hell, 

It's  time  we  tackled  the  wheel  a  spell.' 
Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 
An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 

The  dockside  loafers  talked  on  the  quay 
The  day  that  she  towed  down  to  sea: 


4  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

'Lord,  what  a  handsome  ship  she  be! 
Cheer  her,  sonny  boys,  three  times  three!' 
And  the  dockside  loafers  gave  her  a  shout 
As  the  red-funnelled  tug-boat  towed  her  out; 
They  gave  her  a  cheer  as  the  custom  is, 
And  the  crew  yelled  'Take  our  loves  to  Lis 
Three  cheers,  bullies,  for  old  Pier  Head 
'N'  the  bloody  stay-at-homes!'  they  said. 
Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 
An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 


In  the  grey  of  the  coming  on  of  night 
She  dropped  the  tug  at  the  Tuskar  Light, 
'N'  the  topsails  went  to  the  topmast  head 
To  a  chorus  that  fairly  awoke  the  dead. 
She  trimmed  her  yards  and  slanted  South 
With  her  royals  set  and  a  bone  in  her  mouth. 
Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 
An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 


She  crossed  the  Line  and  all  went  well, 
They  ate,  they  slept,  and  they  struck  the  bell 


THE   YARN   OF   THE   'LOCH   ACHRAY'      5 

And  I  give  you  a  gospel  truth  when  I  state 
The  crowd  didn't  find  any  fault  with  the  Mate, 
But  one  night  off  the  River  Plate. 

Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 

An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 


It  freshened  up  till  it  blew  like  thunder 
And  burrowed  her  deep,  lee-scuppers  under. 
The  old  man  said,  'I  mean  to  hang  on 
Till  her  canvas  busts  or  her  sticks  are  gone' — 
Which  the  blushing  looney  did,  till  at  last 
Overboard  went  her  mizzen-mast. 
Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 
An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 

Then  a  fierce  squall  struck  the  'Loch  Achray* 
And  bowed  her  down  to  her  water-way; 
Her  main-shrouds  gave  and  her  forestay, 
And  a  green  sea  carried  her  wheel  away; 
Ere  the  watch  below  had  time  to  dress 
She  was  cluttered  up  in  a  blushing  mess. 
Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 
An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 


6  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

She  couldn't  lay-to  nor  yet  pay-off, 
And  she  got  swept  clean  in  the  bloody  trough ; 
Her  masts  were  gone,  and  afore  you  knowed 
She  filled  by  the  head  and  down  she  goed. 
Her  crew  made  seven-and-twenty  dishes 
For  the  big  jack-sharks  and  the  little  fishes, 
And  over  their  bones  the  water  swishes. 
Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 
An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 

The  wives  and  girls  they  watch  in  the  rain 
For  a  ship  as  won't  come  home  again. 
'I  reckon  it's  them  head-winds,'  they  say, 
'She'll  be  home  to-morrow,  if  not  to-day. 
I'll  just  nip  home  'n'  I'll  air  the  sheets 
'N'  buy  the  fixins  'n'  cook  the  meats 
As  my  man  likes  'n'  as  my  man  eats.' 

So  home  they  goes  by  the  windy  streets, 
Thinking  their  men  are  homeward  bound 
With  anchors  hungry  for  English  ground, 
And  the  bloody  fun  of  it  is,  they're  drowned ! 
Hear  the  yarn  of  a  sailor, 
An  old  yarn  learned  at  sea. 


SING   A   SONG   O'    SHIPWRECK 


SING  A  SONG  O'  SHIPWRECK 

HE  lolled  on  a  bollard,  a  sun-burned  son  of  the  sea, 
With  ear-rings  of  brass  and  a  jumper  of  dungaree, 
'  'N'  many  a  queer  lash-up  have  I  seen,'  says  he. 


'But  the  toughest  hooray  o'  the  racket,'  he  says,  Til 

be  sworn, 
'N'  the  roughest  traverse  I  worked  since  the  day  I 

was  born, 
Was  a  packet  o'  Sailor's  Delight  as  I  scoffed  in  the 

seas  o'  the  Horn. 


'All  day  long  in  the  calm  she  had  rolled  to  the 

swell, 
Rolling  through  fifty  degrees  till  she  clattered  her 

bell; 
'N'  then  came  snow,  'n'  a  squall,  'n'  a  wind  was 

colder  'n  hell. 


8  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

'It   blew  like  the  Bull   of   Barney,   a  beast   of   a 

breeze, 

'N'  over  the  rail  come  the  cold  green  lollopin'  seas, 
'N'  she  went  ashore  at  the  dawn  on  the  Ramirez. 

'She  was  settlin'  down  by  the  stern  when  I  got  to 

the  deck, 
Her  waist  was  a  smother  o'  sea  as  was  up  to  your 

neck, 
'N'  her  masts  were  gone,  'n'  her  rails,  'n'  she  was 

a  wreck. 

'We  rigged  up  a  tackle,  a  purchase,  a  sort  of  a  shift, 
To  hoist  the  boats  off  o'  the  deck-house  and  get 

them  adrift, 
When  her  stern  gives  a  sickenin'  settle,  her  bows 

give  a  lift, 

'  'N'  comes  a  crash  of  green  water  as  sets  me 

afloat 

With  freezing  fingers  clutching  the  keel  of  a  boat — 
The  bottom-up  whaler — 'n'  that  was  the  juice  of  a 

note. 


SING   A   SONG   O'   SHIPWRECK  9 

'Well,  I  clambers  acrost  o'  the  keel  'n'  I  gets  me 

secured, 
When  I  sees  a  face  in  the  white  o'  the  smother  to 

looard, 
So  I  gives  'im  a  'and,  'n'  be  shot  if  it  wasn't  the 

stooard ! 

'So  he  climbs  up  forrard  o'  me,  'n'  "thanky,"  a'  says, 
'N'  we  sits  'n'  shivers  'n'  freeze  to  the  bone  wi'  the 

sprays, 
'N'  7  sings  "Abel  Brown,"  'n'  the  stooard  he  prays. 

'Wi'  never  a  dollop  to  sup  nor  a  morsel  to  bite, 
The  lips  of  us  blue  with  the  cold  'n'  the  heads  of 

us  light, 
Adrift  in  a  Cape  Horn  sea  for  a  day  'n'  a  night. 


'  'N'  then  the  stooard  goes  dotty  'n'  puts  a  tune  to 

his  lip, 
'N'  moans  about  Love  like  a  dern  old  hen  wi'  the 

Pip— 

(I  sets  no  store  upon  stooards — they  ain't  no  use 
on  a  ship). 


io  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

'  'N'  "mother,"  the  looney  cackles,  "come  'n'  put 
Willy  to  bed!" 

So  I  says  "Dry  up,  or  I'll  fetch  you  a  crack  o'  the 
head"; 

"The  kettle's  a-bilin',"  he  answers,  "  'n'  I'll  go  but- 
ter the  bread." 

'  'N'  he  falls  to  singin'  some  slush  about  clinkin'  a 

can, 

'N'  at  last  he  dies,  so  he  does,  'n'  I  tells  you,  Jan, 
I  was  glad  when  he  did,  for  he  weren't  no  fun  for 

a  man. 

'So  he  falls  forrard,  he  does,  'n'  he  closes  his  eye, 
'N'  quiet  he  lays  'n'  quiet  I  leaves  him  lie, 
'N'  I  was  alone  with  his  corp,  'n'  the  cold  green 
sea  and  the  sky. 

'  'N'  then  I  dithers,  I  guess,  for  the  next  as  I  knew 
Was  the  voice  of  a  mate  as  was  sayin'  to  one  of  the 

crew, 
"Easy,  my  son,  wi'  the  brandy,  be  shot  if  he  ain't 

comin'-to!"  ' 


J^ 


BURIAL   PART 


BURIAL   PARTY 

'HE'S  deader  'n  nails/  the  fo'c's'le  said,  '  'n'  gone 

to  his  long  sleep' ; 
'  'N'  about  his  corp,'  said  Tom  to  Dan,  'd'ye  think 

his  corp '11  keep 
Till  the  day's  done,  'n'  the  work's  through,  'n'  the 

ebb's  upon  the  neap?' 

'He's  deader  'n  nails,'  said   Dan  to  Tom,  '  'n'   I 

wish  his  sperrit  j'y; 
He  spat  straight  'n'  he  steered  true,  but  listen  to 

me,  say  I, 
Take  'n'  cover  'n'  bury  him  now,  'n'  I'll  take  'n' 

tell  you  why. 

'It's  a  rummy  rig  of  a  guffy's  yarn,  'n'  the  juice  of 

a  rummy  note, 
But  if  you  buries  a  corp  at  night,  it  takes  'n'  keeps 

afloat, 


12  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

For  its  bloody  soul's  afraid  o'  the  dark  'n'  sticks 
within  the  throat. 


'  'N'  all  the  night  till  the  grey  o'  the  dawn  the  dead 

'un  has  to  swim 
With  a  blue  'n'  beastly  Will  o'  the  Wisp  a-burnin' 

over  him, 
With  a  herring,  maybe,  a-scoffin'  a  toe  or  a  shark 

a-chewin'  a  limb. 

'  'N'  all  the  night  the  shiverin'  corp  it  has  to  swim 

the  sea, 
With  its  shudder  in'  soul  inside  the  throat  (where  a 

soul's  no  right  to  be), 
Till  the  sky's  grey  'n'  the  dawn's  clear,  'n'  then 

the  sperrit's  free. 

'Now  Joe  was  a  man  was  right  as  rain.     I'm  sort 

of  sore  for  Joe, 
'N'  if  we  bury  him  durin'  the  day,  his  soul  can  take 

'n'  go; 
So  we'll  dump  his  corp  when  the  bell  strikes  'n'  we 

can  get  below. 


BURIAL    PARTY  13 

'I'd  fairly  hate  for  him  to  swim  in  a  blue  'n'  beastly 

light, 
With  his  shudderin'  soul  inside  of  him  a-feelin'  the 

fishes  bite, 
So  over  he  goes  at  noon,  say  I,  'n'  he  shall  sleep 

to-night.' 


14  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


BILL 

HE  lay  dead  on  the  cluttered  deck  and  stared  at 

the  cold  skies, 
With  never  a  friend  to  mourn  for  him  nor  a  hand 

to  close  his  eyes: 
'Bill,  he's  dead,'  was  all  they  said;  'he's  dead,  'n' 

there  he  lies.' 

The  mate  came  forrard  at  seven  bells  and  spat  across 

the  rail: 
'Just  lash  him  up  wi'  some  holystone  in  a  clout  o' 

rotten  sail, 
'N',  rot  ye,  get  a  gait  on  ye,  ye're  slower 'n  a  bloody 

snail!' 

When  the  rising  moon  was  a  copper  disc  and  the 

sea  was  a  strip  of  steel, 
We  dumped  him  down  to  the  swaying  weeds  ten 

fathom  beneath  the  keel. 
'It's  rough  about  Bill,'  the  fo'c's'le  said,  'we'll  have 

to  stand  his  wheel.' 


FEVER    SHIP  15 


FEVER   SHIP 

THERE'LL  be  no  weepin'  gells  ashore  when  our  ship 

sails, 

Nor  no  crews  cheerin'  us,  standin'  at  the  rails, 
'N'  no  Blue  Peter  a-foul  the  royal  stay, 
For  we've  the  Yellow  Fever — Harry  died  to-day. — 
It's  cruel  when  a  fo'c's'le  gets  the  fever! 


'N'  Dick  has  got  the  fever-shakes,  'n'  look  what  I 

was  told 
(I  went  to  get  a  sack  for  him  to  keep  him  from  the 

cold) : 
'Sir,  can  I  have  a  sack?'  I  says,  'for  Dick  'e's  fit  to 

die.' 
'Oh,  sack  be  shot!'  the  skipper  says,  'jest  let  the 

rotter  lie!' — 

It's  cruel  when  a  fo'c's'le  gets  the  fever ! 


16  SALT-WATER    BALLABS 

It's  a  cruel  port  is  Santos,  and  a  hungry  land, 
With  rows  o'  graves  already  dug  in  yonder  strip  of 

sand, 
'N'  Dick  is  hollerin'  up  the  hatch,  'e  says  'e's  goin' 

blue, 
His  pore  teeth  are  chattering,  'n'  what's  a  man  to 

do?— 

It's  cruel  when  a  fo'c's'le  gets  the  fever! 


FEVER-CHILLS  17 


FEVER-CHILLS 

HE  tottered  out  of  the  alleyway  with  cheeks  the 

colour  of  paste, 
And  shivered  a  spell  and  mopped  his  brow  with  a 

clout  of  cotton  waste : 
'I've  a  lick  of  fever-chills,'  he  said,  '  'n'  my  inside 

it's  green, 
But  I'd  be  as  right  as  rain,'  he  said,  'if  I  had  some 

quinine, — 
But  there  ain't  no  quinine  for  us  poor  sailor-men. 

'But  them  there  passengers,'  he  said,  'if  they  gets 

fever-chills, 
There's  brimmin'  buckets  o'  quinine  for  them,  'n' 

bulgin'  crates  o'  pills, 
'N'  a  doctor  with  Latin  'n'  drugs  'n'  all — enough 

to  sink  a  town, 
'N'  they  lies  quiet  in  their  blushin'  bunks  'n'  mops 

their  gruel  down, — 


i8  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

But  their  ain't  none  o'  them  fine  ways  for  us  poor 
sailor-men. 

'But  the  Chief  comes  forrard  'n'  he  says,  says  he, 

"I  gives  you  a  straight  tip: 
Come  none  o'  your  Cape  Horn  faver  lays  aboard  o' 

this  yer  ship. 
On  wi'  your  rags  o'  duds,  my  son,  'n'  aft,  'n'  down 

the  hole: 
The  best  cure  known  for  fever-chills  is  shovelling 

bloody  coal." 
It's  hard,  my  son,  that's  what  it  is,  for  us  poor 

sailor-men.' 


ONE   OF   THE   BO'SUN'S    YARNS         19 


ONE  OF  THE  BO'SUN'S  YARNS 

LOAFIN'  around  in  Sailor  Town,  a-bluin'  o'  my  ad- 
vance, 

I  met  a  derelict  donkeyman  who  led  me  a  merry 
dance, 

Till  he  landed  me  'n'  bleached  me  fair  in  the  bar 
of  a  rum-saloon, 

'N'  there  he  spun  me  a  juice  of  a  yarn  to  this-yer 
brand  of  tune. 


'It's  a  solemn  gospel,  mate,'  he  says,  'but  a  man  as 

ships  aboard 
A  steamer-tramp,  he  gets  his  whack  of  the  wonders 

of  the  Lord — 
Such  as  roaches  crawlin'  over  his  bunk,  'n'  snakes 

inside  his  bread, 
And  work  by  night  and  work  by  day  enough  to 

strike  him  dead. 


20  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

'But  that  there's  by  the  way,'  says  he;  'the  yarn 

I'm  goin'  to  spin 
Is  about  myself  'n'  the  life  I  led  in  the  last  ship  I 

was  in, 
The  "Esmeralda,"  casual  tramp,  from  Hull  towards 

the  Hook, 
Wi'  one  o'  the  brand  o'  Cain  for  mate  'n'  a  human 

mistake  for  cook. 


'We'd  a  week  or  so  of  dippin'  around  in  a  wind 

from  outer  hell, 
With  a  fathom  or  more  of  broken  sea  at  large  in  the 

forrard  well, 
Till  our  boats  were  bashed  and  bust  and  broke  and 

gone  to  Davy  Jones, 
'N'  then  come  white  Atlantic  fog  as  chilled  us  to 

the  bones. 


'We  slowed  her  down  and  started  the  horn  and 

watch  and  watch  about, 
We  froze  the  marrow  in  all  our  bones  a-keepin'  a 

good  look-out, 


ONE   OF   THE   BO'SUN'S    YARNS         21 

'N'  the  ninth  night  out,  in  the  middle  watch,   I 

woke  from  a  pleasant  dream, 
With  the  smash  of  a  steamer  ramming  our  plates 

a  point  abaft  the  beam. 


'  'Twas  cold  and  dark  when  I  fetched  the  deck, 

dirty  'n'  cold  V  thick, 
'N'  there  was  a  feel  in  the  way  she  rode  as  fairly 

turned  me  sick; — 
She  was  settlin',  listin'  quickly  down,  'n'  I  heard 

the  mates  a-cursin', 
'N'  I  heard  the  wash  'n'  the  grumble-grunt  of  a 

steamer's  screws  reversin'. 


'She  was  leavin'  us,  mate,  to  sink  or  swim,  'n'  the 

words  we  took  'n'  said 
They   turned   the   port-light   grassy-green    'n'   the 

starboard  rosy-red. 
We  give  her  a  hot  perpetual  taste  of  the  singeing 

curse  of  Cain, 
As  we  heard  her  back  'n'  clear  the  wreck  'n'  off  to 

her  course  again. 


22  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

'Then  the  mate  came  dancin'  on  to  the  scene,  'n'  he 
says,  "Now  quit  yer  chin, 

Or  I'll  smash  yer  skulls,  so  help  me  James,  'n'  let 
some  wisdom  in. 

Ye  dodderin'  scum  o'  the  slums,"  he  says,  "are  ye 
drunk  or  blazin'  daft? 

If  ye  wish  to  save  yer  sickly  hides,  ye'd  best  con- 
trive a  raft." 


'So  he  spoke  us  fair  and  turned  us  to,  'n'  we 
wrought  wi'  tooth  and  nail 

Wi'  scantling,  casks,  'n'  coops  'n'  ropes,  'n'  boiler- 
plates 'n'  sail, 

'N'  all  the  while  it  were  dark  'n'  cold  'n'  dirty  as  it 
could  be, 

'N'  she  was  soggy  'n'  settlin'  down  to  a  berth  be- 
neath the  sea. 


'Soggy  she  grew,  'n'  she  didn't  lift,  'n'  she  listed 

more  'n'  more, 
Till  her  bell  struck  'n'  her  boiler-pipes  began  to 

wheeze  'n'  snore; 


ONE   OF   THE   BO'SUN'S    YARNS         23 

She  settled,  settled,  listed,  heeled,  'n'  then  may  I  be 

cust, 
If  her  sneezin',  wheezin'  boiler-pipes  did  not  begin 

to  bust! 


'  'N'  then  the  stars  began  to  shine,  'n'  the  birds  be- 
gan to  sing, 

'N'  the  next  I  knowed  I  was  bandaged  up  'n'  my 
arm  were  in  a  sling, 

'N'  a  swab  in  uniform  were  there,  'n'  "Well,"  says 
he,  "  'n'  how 

Are  yer  arms,  'n'  legs,  'n'  liver,  'n'  lungs,  'n'  bones 
a-feelin'  now?" 


"  'Where  am  I  ?"  says  I,  'n'  he  says,  says  he,  a-cant- 

in'  to  the  roll, 
"You're  aboard  the  R.M.S.  'Marie'   in  the  after 

Glory-Hole, 
'N'  you've  had  a  shave,  if  you  wish  to  know,  from 

the  port  o'  Kingdom  Come. 
Drink  this,"  he  says,  'n'  I  takes  'n'  drinks,  'n'  s'elp 

me,  it  was  rum ! 


24  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

'Seven  survivors  seen  'n'  saved  of  the  "Esmeralda's" 
crowd, 

Taken  aboard  the  sweet  "Marie"  'n'  bunked  'n' 
treated  proud, 

'N'  D.B.S.'d  to  Mersey  Docks  ('n'  a  joyful  trip  we 
made), 

'N'  there  the  skipper  were  given  a  purse  by  a  grate- 
ful Board  of  Trade. 


'That's  the  end  o'  the  yarn/  he  says,  'n'  he  takes 

'n'  wipes  his  lips, 
'Them's  the  works  o'  the  Lord  you  sees  in  steam  'n' 

sailin'  ships, — 
Rocks  'n'  fogs  'n'  shatterin'  seas  'n'  breakers  right 

ahead, 
'N'  work  o'  nights  'n'  work  o'  days  enough  to  strike 

you  dead.' 


HELL'S    PAVEMENT  25 


HELL'S   PAVEMENT 

'When  I'm  discharged  in  Liverpool  'n'  draws  my  bit 

o'  pay, 

I  won't  come  to  sea  no  more. 
I'll  court  a  pretty  little  lass  'n'  have  a  weddin'  day, 

'N'  settle  somewhere  down  ashore. 
I'll  never  fare  to  sea  again  a-temptin'  Davy  Jones, 
A-hearkening  to  the  cruel  sharks  a-hungerin'   for 

my  bones; 

I'll  run  a  blushin'  dairy-farm  or  go  a-crackin'  stones, 
Or  buy  'n'  keep  a  little  liquor-store,' — 

So  he  said. 

They   towed   her   in   to   Liverpool,   we   made   the 

hooker  fast, 

And  the  copper-bound  officials  paid  the  crew, 
And  Billy  drew  his  money,  but  the  money  didn't 

last, 
For  he  painted  the  alongshore  blue, — 


26  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

It  was  rum  for  Poll,  and  rum  for  Nan,  and  gin  for 

Jolly  Jack. 
He  shipped  a  week  later  in  the  clothes  upon  his 

back, 
He  had  to  pinch  a  little  straw,  he  had  to  beg  a 

sack 

To  sleep  on,  when  his  watch  was  through, — 

So  he  did. 


SEA-CHANGE  27 


SEA-CHANGE 


'GONEYS  an'  gullies  an'  all  o'  the  birds  o'  the  sea, 
They  ain't  no  birds,  not  really,'  said  Billy  the 

Dane. 
'Not  mollies,  nor  gullies,  nor  goneys  at  all,'  said 

he, 

'But    simply    the    sperrits    of    mariners    livin' 
again. 

'Them  birds  goin'  fishin'  is  nothin'  but  souls  o'  the 

drovned, 
Souls  o'  the  drowned  an'  the  kicked  as  are  never 

no  more; 

An'  that  there  haughty  old  albatross  cruisin'  around, 
Belike  he's  Admiral  Nelson  or  Admiral  Noah. 


'An'  merry's  the  life  they  are  living.     They  settle 
and  dip, 


28  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

They   fishes,    they    never    stands   watches,    they 

waggle  their  wings; 

When  a  ship  comes  by,  they  fly  to  look  at  the  ship 
To    see    how    the    nowaday    mariners    manages 

things. 


'When  freezing  aloft  in  a  snorter,  I  tell  you  I  wish — 
(Though  maybe  it  ain't  like  a  Christian) — I  wish 

I  could  be 
A  haughty  old  copper-bound  albatross  dipping  for 

fish 

And  coming  the  proud  over  all  o'  the  birds  o'  the 
sea.' 


HARBOUR-BAR  29 


HARBOUR-BAR 

ALL   in   the   feathered   palm-tree   tops   the   bright 

green  parrots  screech, 
The  white  line  of  the  running  surf  goes  booming 

down  the  beach, 
But  I  shall  never  see  them,  though  the  land  lies 

close  aboard, 
I've  shaped  the  last  long  silent  tack  as  takes  one 

to  the  Lord. 


Give  me  the  Scripters,  Jakey,  'n'  my  pipe  atween 

my  lips, 
I'm  bound  for  somewhere  south  and  far  beyond  the 

track  of  ships; 
I've  run  my  rags  of  colours  up  and  clinched  them 

to  the  stay, 
And  God  the  pilot's  come  aboard  to  bring  me  up 

the  bay. 


30  SALT-WATER    BALLABS 

You'll  mainsail-haul  my  bits  o'  things  when  Christ 

has  took  my  soul, 
'N'  you'll  lay  me  quiet  somewhere  at  the  landward 

end  the  Mole, 
Where  I  shall  hear  the  steamers'  sterns  a-squatter- 

ing  from  the  heave, 
And  the  topsail  blocks  a-piping  when  a  rope-yarn 

fouls  the  sheave. 

Give  me  a  sup  of  lime-juice;  Lord,  I'm  drifting  in 

to  port, 
The  landfall  lies  to  windward  and  the  wind  comes 

light  and  short, 
And  I'm  for  signing  off  and  out  to  take  my  watch 

below, 
And — prop  a  fellow,  Jakey — Lord,  it's  time  for  me 

to  go! 


THE  TURN   OF   THE  TIDE  31 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

AN'  Bill  can  have  my  sea-boots,  Nigger  Jim  can 

have  my  knife, 

You  can  divvy  up  the  dungarees  an'  bed, 
An'  the  ship  can  have  my  blessing,  an'  the  Lord  can 

have  my  life, 
An'  sails  an'  fish  my  body  when  I'm  dead. 

An'  dreaming  down  below  there  in  the  tangled 

greens  an'  blues, 

Where  the  sunlight  shudders  golden  round  about, 
I  shall  hear  the  ships  complainin'  an'  the  cursin'  of 

the  crews, 
An'  be  sorry  when  the  watch  is  tumbled  out. 

I  shall  hear  them  hilly-hollying  the  weather  crojick 

brace, 
And  the  sucking  of  the  wash  about  the  hull; 


32  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

When  they  chanty  up  the  topsail  I'll  be  hauling  in 

my  place, 
For  my  soul  will  follow  seawards  like  a  gull. 

I  shall  hear  the  blocks  a-grunting  in  the  bumpkins 

over-side, 

An'  the  slatting  of  the  storm-sails  on  the  stay, 
An*  the  rippling  of  the  catspaw  at  the  making  of 

the  tide, 
An'  the  swirl  and  splash  of  porpoises  at  play. 

An'  Bill  can  have  my  sea-boots,  Nigger  Jim  can 

have  my  knife, 

You  can  divvy  up  the  whack  I  haven't  scofft, 
An'  the  ship  can  have  my  blessing  and  the  Lord 

can  have  my  life, 
For  it's  time  I  quit  the  deck  and  went  aloft. 


ONE   OF    WALLY'S    YARNS  33 


ONE  OF  WALLY'S  YARNS 

THE  watch  was  up  on  the  topsail-yard  a-making 

fast  the  sail, 
'N'  Joe  was  swiggin'  his  gasket  taut,  'n'  I  felt  the 

stirrup  give, 
'N'  he  dropped  sheer  from  the  tops'1-yard  'n'  barely 

cleared  the  rail, 

'N'  o'  course,  we  bein'  aloft, -we  couldn't  do  nothin' — 
We  couldn't  lower  a  boat  and  go  a-lookin'  for  him, 
For  it  blew  hard  'n'  there  was  sech  a  sea  runnin' 
That  no  boat  wouldn't  live. 

i 

I  seed  him  rise  in  the  white  o'  the  wake,  I  seed 

him  lift  a  hand 
('N'  him  in  his  oilskin  suit  'n'  all),  I  heard  him  lift 

a  cry; 
'N'  there  was  his  place  on  the  yard  'n'  all,  'n'  the 

stirrup's  busted  strand. 


34  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

'N'  the  old  man  said  there's  a  cruel  old  sea  runnin', 
A  cold  green  Barney's  Bull  of  a  sea  runnin'; 
It's  hard,  but  I  ain't  agoin'  to  let  a  boat  be  lowered : 
So  we  left  him  there  to  die. 

He  couldn't  have  kept  afloat  for  long  an'  him  lashed 

up  'n'  all, 
'N'  we  couldn't  see  him  for  long,  for  the  sea  was 

blurred  with  the  sleet  'n'  snow, 
'N'  we  couldn't  think  of  him  much  because  o'  the 

snortin',  screamin'  squall. 

There  was  a  hand  less  at  the  halliards  'n'  the  braces, 
'N'    a   name   less   when   the   watch   spoke   to   the 

muster-roll, 

'N'  a  empty  bunk  'n'  a  pannikin  as  wasn't  wanted 
When  the  watch  went  below. 


A    VALEDICTION  35 


A  VALEDICTION   (LIVERPOOL  DOCKS) 

A   CRIMP.  A   DRUNKEN    SAILOR. 

Is  there  anything  as  I  can  do  ashore  for  you 
When  you've  dropped  down  the  tide? — 

You  can   take   'n'   tell   Nan   I'm   goin'   about  the 
world  agen, 

'N'  that  the  world's  wide. 
'N'  tell  her  that  there  ain't  no  postal  service 

Not  down  on  the  blue  sea. 

'N'   tell   her   that  she'd   best   not  keep   her   fires 
alight 

Nor  set  up  late  for  me. 
'N'  tell  her  I'll  have  forgotten  all  about  her 

Afore  we  cross  the  Line. 

'N'  tell  her  that  the  dollars  of  any  other  sailor- 
man 

Is  as  good  red  gold  as  mine. 


36  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

Is  there  anything  as  I  can  do  aboard  for  you 
Afore  the  tow-rope's  taut? 

I'm  new  to  this  packet  and  all  the  ways  of  her, 

'N'  I  don't  know  of  aught; 
But  I  knows  as  I'm  goin'  down  to  the  seas  agen 

'N'  the  seas  are  salt  'n'  drear ; 

But  I  knows  as  all  the  doin'  as  you're  man  enough 
for 

Won't  make  them  lager-beer. 

'N'  ain't  there  nothin'  as  I  can  do  ashore  for  you 
When  you've  got  fair  afloat? — 

You  can  buy  a  farm  with  the  dollars  as  you've  done 

me  of 
'N'  cash  my  advance-note. 

Is  there  anythin   you'd  fancy  for  your  breakfastin 
When  you're  home  across  Mersey  Bar? — 

I  wants  a  red  herrin'  'n'  a  prairie  oyster 
'N'  a  bucket  of  Three  Star, 


A    VALEDICTION  37 

'N'  a  gell  with  redder  lips  than  Polly  has  got, 
'N'  prettier  ways  than  Nan 

Well,  so-long,  Billy,  'ri  a  spankin  heavy  pay-day  to 
you! 

So-long,  my  fancy  man ! 


38  SALT-WATER    BALLABS 


A  NIGHT  AT  DAGO  TOM'S 

OH  yesterday,  I  t'ink  it  was,  while  cruisin'  down  the 

street, 
I  met  with  Bill. — 'Hullo,'  he  says,  'let's  give  the 

girls  a  treat.' 
We'd  red  bandanas  round  our  necks  'n'  our  shrouds 

new  rattled  down, 
So  we  filled  a  couple  of  Santy  Cruz  and  cleared  for 

Sailor  Town. 


We  scooted  south  with  a  press  of  sail  till  we  fetched 
to  a  caboose, 

The  'Sailor's  Rest,'  by  Dago  Tom,  alongside 
'Paddy's  Goose.' 

Red  curtains  to  the  windies,  ay,  'n'  white  sand  to 
the  floor, 

And  an  old  blind  fiddler  liltin'  the  tune  of  'Low- 
lands no  more.' 


A    NIGHT    AT    DAGO    TOM'S  39 

He  played  the  'Shaking  of  the  Sheets'  'n'  the 
couples  did  advance, 

Bowing,  stamping,  curtsying,  in  the  shuffling  of 
the  dance; 

The  old  floor  rocked  and  quivered,  so  it  struck  be- 
holders dumb, 

'N'  arterwards  there  was  sweet  songs  'n'  good 
Jamaikey  rum. 

'N'  there  was  many  a  merry  yarn  of  many  a  merry 

spree 

Aboard  the  ships  with  royals  set  a-sailing  on  the  sea, 
Yarns  of   the  hooker   'Spindrift,'   her  as  had   the 

clipper-bow, — 
'There  ain't  no  ships,'  says  Bill  to  me,  'like  that 

there  hooker  now.' 

When   the  old  blind  fiddler  played   the  tune  of 

'Pipe  the  Watch  Below,' 
The  skew-eyed  landlord  dowsed  the  glim  and  bade 

us  'stamp  'n'  go,' 
'N'  we  linked  it  home,  did  Bill  'n'  I,  adown  the 

scattered  streets, 
Until  we  fetched  to  Land  o'  Nod  atween  the  linen 

sheets. 


SALT-WATER    BALLAD 


TORT  OF  MANY  SHIPS 

TT'S  a  sunny  pleasant  anchorage,  is  Kingdom  Come, 
Where  crews  is  always  layin'  aft  for  double-tots  o' 

rum, 

'N'  there's  dancin'  'n'  fiddlin'  of  ev'ry  kind  o'  sort, 
It's  a  fine  place  for  sailor-men  is  that  there  port. 

'N'  I  wish— 

I  wish  as  I  was  there. 


'The  winds  is  never  nothin'  more  than  jest  light 

airs, 
'N'  no-one  gets  belayin'-pinned,   'n'   no-one  never 

swears, 
Yer  free  to  loaf  an'  laze  around,  yer  pipe  atween 

yer  lips, 

Lollin'  on  the  fo'c's'le,  sonny,  lookin'  at  the  ships. 
'N'  I  wish— 

I  wish  as  I  was  there. 


TORT   OF   MANY   SHIPS'  41 

'For  ridin'  in  the  anchorage  the  ships  of  all  the 

world 

Have  got  one  anchor  down  'n'  all  sails  furled. 
All  the  sunken  hookers  'n'  the  crews  as  took  'n' 

died 

They  lays   there   merry,   sonny,   swingin'    to   the 
tide. 

'N'  I  wish— 

I  wish  as  I  was  there. 


'Drowned  old  wooden  hookers  green  wi'  drippin' 

wrack, 

Ships  as  never  fetched  to  port,  as  never  came  back, 
Swingin'  to  the  blushin'  tide,  dippin'  to  the  swell, 
'N'  the  crews  all  singin',  sonny,  beatin'  on  the  bell. 

'N'  I  wish— 

I  wish  as  I  was  there. 


42  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


CAPE  HORN  GOSPEL— I 

'I  WAS  in  a  hooker  once,'  said  Karlssen, 

'And  Bill,  as  was  a  seaman,  died, 

So  we  lashed  him  in  an  old  tarpaulin 

And  tumbled  him  across  the  side; 

And  the  fun  of  it  was  that  all  his  gear  was 

Divided  up  among  the  crew 

Before  that  blushing  human  error, 

Our  crawling  little  captain,  knew. 


'On  the  passage  home  one  morning 
(As  certain  as  I  prays  for  grace) 
There  was  old  Bill's  sh adder  a-hauling 
At  the  weather  mizzen-topsail  brace. 
He  was  all  grown  green  with  sea-weed, 
He  was  all  lashed  up  and  shored; 
So  I  says  to  him,  I  says,  "Why,  Billy! 
What's  a-bringin'  of  you  back  aboard  ?" 


CAPE    HORN    GOSPEL  43 

"I'm  a-weary  of  them  there  mermaids," 
Says  old  Bill's  ghost  to  me; 
"It  ain't  no  place  for  a  Christian 
Below  there — under  sea. 
For  it's  all  blown  sand  and  shipwrecks, 
And  old  bones  eaten  bare, 
And  them  cold  fishy  females 
With  long  green  weeds  for  hair. 


'  "And  there  ain't  no  dances  shuffled, 

And  no  old  yarns  is  spun, 

And  there  ain't  no  stars  but  starfish, 

And  never  any  moon  or  sun. 

I  heard  your  keel  a-passing 

And  the  running  rattle  of  the  brace," 

And  he  says,  "Stand  by,"  says  William, 

"For  a  shift  towards  a  better  place." 


'Well,  he  sogered  about  decks  till  sunrise, 
When  a  rooster  in  the  hen-coop  crowed, 
And  as  so  much  smoke  he  faded 
And  as  so  much  smoke  he  goed ; 


44  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

And  I've  often  wondered  since,  Jan, 
How  his  old  ghost  stands  to  fare 
Long  o'  them  cold  fishy  females 
With  long  green  weeds  for  hair.' 


CAPE    HORN    GOSPEL  45 


CAPE  HORN  GOSPEL— II 

JAKE  was  a  dirty  Dago  lad,  an'  he  gave  the  skipper 

chin, 
An*  the  skipper  up  an'  took  him  a  crack  with  an 

iron  belaying-pin 
Which  stiffened  him  out  a  rusty  corp,  as  pretty  as 

you  could  wish, 
An*   then   we   shovelled    him   up    in    a   sack    an' 

dumped  him  to  the  fish. 

That  was  jest  arter  we'd  got  sail  on  her. 

Josey   slipped    from   the   tops'1-yard    an'    bust    his 

bloody  back 
(Which   corned   from  playing  the  giddy  goat  an' 

leavin'  go  the  jack)  ; 
We  lashed  his  chips  in  clouts  of  sail  an'  ballasted 

him  with  stones, 
'The  Lord  hath  taken  away,'  we  says,  an'  we  give 

him  to  Davy  Jones. 

An' that  was  afore  we  were  up  with  the  Line. 


46  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

Joe  were  chippin'   a  rusty  plate   a-squattin'   upon 

the  deck, 
An'  all  the  watch  he  had  the  sun  a-singein'  him  on 

the  neck, 
An'  forrard  he  falls  at  last,  he  does,  an'  he  lets  his 

mallet  go, 
Dead  as  a  nail  with  a  calenture,  an'  that  was  the 

end  of  Joe. 

An'  that  was  just  afore  we  made  the  Plate. 

All  o'  the  rest  were  sailor-men,  an'  it  come  to  rain 

an'  squall, 
An'  then  it  was  halliards,  sheets,  an  'tacks  'clue 

up,  an'  let  go  all.' 
We  snugged  her  down  an'  hove  her  to,  an'  the  old 

contrairy  cuss 
Started  a  plate,  an'  settled  an'  sank,  an'  that  was 

the  end  of  us. 


We  slopped  around  on  coops  an'  planks  in  the  cold 

an'  in  the  dark, 
An'  Bill  were  drowned,  an'  Tom  were  ate  by  a 

swine  of  a  cruel  shark, 


CAPE    HORN    GOSPEL  47 

An'  a  mail-boat  resided  Harry  an'  I  (which  corned 

of  pious  prayers), 
Which  brings  me  here  a-kickin'  my  heels  in  the 

port  of  Buenos  Ayres. 

I'm  bound  for  home  in  the  'Oronook,'  in  a  suit  of 

looted  duds, 

A  D.B.S.  a-earnin'  a  stake  by  helpin'  peelin'  spuds, 
An'  if  ever  I  fetch  to  Prince's  Stage  an'  sets  my 

feet  ashore, 
You  bet  your  hide  that  there  I  stay,  an'  follers  the 

sea  no  more. 


48  SALT-WATER    BALLABS 


MOTHER  CAREY 

(AS  TOLD  ME  BY  THE  BC/SUN) 

MOTHER  CAREY?    She's  the  mother  o'  the  witches 

'N'  all  them  sort  o'  rips; 
She's  a  fine  gell  to  look  at,  but  the  hitch  is, 

She's  a  sight  too  fond  of  ships. 
She  lives  upon  a  iceberg  to  the  norred, 

'N'  her  man  he's  Davy  Jones, 
'N'  she  combs  the  weeds  upon  her  forred 

With  pore  drowned  sailors'  bones. 

She's  the  mother  o'  the  wrecks,  'n'  the  mother 

Of  all  big  winds  as  blows; 
She's  up  to  some  deviltry  or  other 

When  it  storms,  or  sleets,  or  snows. 
The  noise  of  the  wind's  her  screamin', 

'I'm  arter  a  plump,  young,  fine, 
Brass-buttoned,  beefy-ribbed  young  seam'n 

So  as  me  'n'  my  mate  kin  dine.' 


MOTHER   CAREY  49 

She's  a  hungry  old  rip  'n'  a  cruel 

For  sailor-men  like  we, 
She's  give  a  many  mariners  the  gruel 

'N'  a  long  sleep  under  sea. 
She's  the  blood  o'  many  a  crew  upon  her 

'N'  the  bones  of  many  a  wreck, 
'N'  she's  barnacles  a-growin'  on  her 

'N'  shark's  teeth  round  her  neck. 

I  ain't  never  had  no  schoolin' 

Nor  read  no  books  like  you, 
But  I  knows  't  ain't  healthy  to  be  foolin' 

With  that  there  gristly  two. 
You're  young,  you  thinks,  'n'  you're  lairy, 

But  if  you're  to  make  old  bones, 
Steer  clear,  I  says,  o'  Mother  Carey, 

'N'  that  there  Davy  Jones. 


50  SALT-WATER    BALLAEJS 


EVENING— REGATTA  DAY 

YOUR  nose  is  a  red  jelly,  your  mouth's  a  toothless 

wreck, 
And  I'm  atop  of  you,  banging  your  head  upon  the 

dirty  deck; 
And   both   your   eyes   are   bunged   and   blind   like 

those  of  a  mewling  pup, 
For  you're  the  juggins  who  caught  the  crab  and 

lost  the  ship  the  Cup. 

He  caught  a  crab  in  the  spurt  home,  this  blushing 

cherub  did, 
And   the   'Craigie's'   whaler   slipped   ahead   like   a 

cart-wheel  on  the  skid, 
And    beat    us    fair    by   a   boat's    nose   though    we 

sweated  fit  to  start  her, 
So   we   are   playing   at   Nero   now,    and    he's   the 

Christian  martyr. 


EVENING— REGATTA   DAY  51 

And    Stroke    is   lashing   a   bunch   of   keys    to   the 

buckle-end  a  belt, 
And  we're  going  to  lay  you  over  a  chest  and  baste 

you  till  you  melt. 
The    'Craigie'    boys    are    beating    the    bell    and 

cheering  down  the  tier, 
D'ye  hear,  you  Port  Mahone  baboon,  I  ask  you,  do 

you  hear? 


52  SALT-WATER    BALLABS 


A  VALEDICTION 

WE'RE  bound  for  blue  water  where  the  great  winds 

blow, 
It's  time  to  get  the  tacks  aboard,  time  for  us  to 

go; 
The  crowd's  at  the  capstan  and  the  tune's  in  the 

shout, 
'A  long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  warp  the  hooker  out' 

The  bow-wash  is  eddying,  spreading  from  the  bows, 
Aloft  and  loose  the  topsails  and  some  one  give  a 

rouse  ; 

A  salt  Atlantic  chanty  shall  be  music  to  the  dead, 
'A  long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  the  yard  to  the  mast- 
head' 

Green   and   merry  run  the  seas,   the  wind   comes 

cold, 
Salt  and  strong  and  pleasant,  and  worth  a  mint  of 

gold; 


A   VALEDICTION  53 

And  she's  staggering,   swooping,   as  she   feels  her 

feet, 
'A  long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  aft  the  main-sheet.' 

Shrilly  squeal  the  running  sheaves,  the  weather- 
gear  strains, 

Such  a  clatter  of  chain-sheets,  the  devil's  in  the 
chains ; 

Over  us  the  bright  stars,  under  us  the  drowned, 

'A  long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  we're  outward 
bound' 

Yonder,  round  and  ruddy,  is  the  mellow  old  moon, 
The  red-funnelled  tug  has  gone,  and  now,  sonny, 

soon 
We'll  be  clear  of  the  Channel,  so  watch  how  you 

steer, 
'Ease  her  when  she  pitches,  and  so-long,  my  dear' 


54  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


A  PIER-HEAD  CHORUS 

OH  I'll  be  chewing  salted  horse  and  biting  flinty 

bread, 
And  dancing  with   the  stars  to  watch,   upon   the 

fo'c's'le  head, 
Hearkening  to  the  bow-wash  and  the  welter  of  the 

tread 
Of  a  thousand  tons  of  clipper  running  free. 

For  the  tug  has  got  the  tow-rope  and  will  take  us 

to  the  Downs, 
Her  paddles  churn  the  river-wrack  to  muddy  greens 

and  trowns, 
And  I  have  given  river-wrack  and  all  the  filth  of 

towns 
For  the  rolling,  combing  cresters  of  the  sea. 

We'll  sheet  the  mizzen-royals  home  and  shimmer 
down  the  Bay, 


A    PIER-HEAD   CHORUS  55 

The  sea-line  blue  with  billows,  the  land-line  blurred 

and  grey ; 
The  bow-wash  will  be  piling  high  and  thrashing 

into  spray, 
As   the    hooker's    fore-foot    tramples    down    the 

swell. 

She'll   log   a   giddy  seventeen   and   rattle  out   the 

reel, 
The  weight  of  all  the  run-out  line  will  be  a  thing 

to  feel, 
As  the  bacca-quidding  shell-back  shambles  aft  to 

take  the  wheel, 
And  the  sea-sick  little  middy  strikes  the  bell. 


56  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


THE  GOLDEN  CITY  OF  ST.  MARY 

OUT  beyond  the  sunset,  could  I  but  find  the  way, 
Is  a  sleepy  blue  laguna  which  widens  to  a  bay, 
And  there's  the  Blessed  City — so  the  sailors  say — 
The  Golden  City  of  St.  Mary. 

It's  built  of  fair  marble — white — without  a  stain, 
And    in    the    cool    twilight    when    the    sea-winds 

wane 

The  bells  chime  faintly,  like  a  soft,  warm  rain, 
In  the  Golden  City  of  St.  Mary. 

Among   the   green   palm-trees   where   the   fire-flies 

shine, 
Are   the   white   tavern   tables   where   the   gallants 

dine, 

Singing  slow  Spanish  songs  like  old  mulled  wine, 
In  the  Golden  City  of  St.  Mary. 


THE  GOLDEN   CITY   OF  ST.   MARY      $7 

Oh  I'll  be  shipping  sunset-wards  and  westward-ho 
Through  the  green  toppling  combers  a-shattering 

into  snow, 

Till  I  come  to  quiet  moorings  and  a  watch  below, 
In  the  Golden  City  of  St.  Mary. 


58  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


TRADE  WINDS 

IN  the  harbour,  in  the  island,  in  the  Spanish  Seas, 
Are  the  tiny  white  houses  and  the  orange-trees, 
And  day-long,   night  long,   the  cool   and  pleasant 

breeze 
Of  the  steady  Trade  Winds  blowing. 

There  is  the  red  wine,  the  nutty  Spanish  ale, 
The  shuffle  of  the  dancers,  the  old  salt's  tale, 
The  squeaking  fiddle,  and  the  soughing  in  the  sail 
Of  the  steady  Trade  Winds  blowing. 

And  o'  nights  there's  fire-flies  and  the  yellow  moon, 
And  in  the  ghostly  palm-trees  the  sleepy  tune 
Of  the  quiet  voice  calling  me,  the  long  low  croon 
Of  the  steady  Trade  Winds  blowing. 


SEA-FEVER  59 


SEA-FEVER 

I  MUST  down  to  the  seas  again,  to  the  lonely  sea 

and  the  sky, 
And  all  I  ask  is  a  tall  ship  and  a  star  to  steer  her 

by, 
And  the  wheel's  kick  and  the  wind's  song  and  the 

white  sail's  shaking, 
And  a  grey  mist  on  the  sea's  face  and  a  grey  dawn 

breaking. 


I  must  down  to  the  seas  again,  for  the  call  of  the 

running  tide 
Is  a  wild  call  and  a  clear  call  that  may  not  be 

denied ; 
And  all  I  ask  is  a  windy  day  with  the  white  clouds 

flying, 
And  the  flung  spray  and  the  blown  spume,  and  the 

sea-gulls  crying. 


60  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

I  must  down  to  the  seas  again  to  the  vagrant  gypsy 

life, 
To  the  gull's  way  and  the  whale's  way  where  the 

wind's  like  a  whetted  knife; 
And  all   I  ask  is  a  merry  yarn  from  a  laughing 

fellow-rover, 
And  quiet  sleep  and  a  sweet  dream  when  the  long 

trick's  over. 


A   WANDERER'S   SONG  61 


A  WANDERER'S  SONG 

A  WIND'S  in  the  heart  of  me,  a  fire's  in  my  heels, 
I  am  tired  of  brick  and  stone  and  rumbling  wagon- 
wheels  ; 

I  hunger  for  the  sea's  edge,  the  limits  of  the  land, 
Where  the  wild  old  Atlantic  is  shouting  on  the 
sand. 

Oh  I'll  be  going,  leaving  the  noises  of  the  street, 
To  where  a  lifting  foresail-foot  is  yanking  at  the 

sheet ; 
To  a  windy,  tossing  anchorage  where  yawls  and 

ketches  ride, 
Oh  I'll  be  going,  going,  until  I  meet  the  tide. 

And  first  I'll  hear  the  sea-wind,  the  mewing  of  the 

gulls, 
The  clucking,  sucking  of  the  sea  about  the  rusty 

hulls, 


62  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

The  songs  at  the  capstan  in  the  hooker  warping 

out, 
And  then  the  heart  of  me'll  know  I'm  there  or 

thereabout. 

Oh  I  am  tired  of  brick  and  stone,  the  heart  of  me 

is  sick, 
For  windy  green,  unquiet  sea,  the  realm  of  Moby 

Dick; 
And  I'll  be  going,  going,  from  the  roaring  of  the 

wheels, 
For  a  wind's  in  the  heart  of  me,  a  fire's  in  my 

heels. 


CARDIGAN    BAY  63 


CARDIGAN  BAY 

CLEAN,  green,  windy  billows  notching  out  the  sky, 
Grey  clouds  tattered  into  rags,  sea-winds  blowing 

high, 

And  the  ships  under  topsails,  beating,  thrashing  by, 
And  the  mewing  of  the  herring  gulls. 

Dancing,  flashing  green  seas  shaking  white  locks, 

Boiling  in  blind  eddies  over  hidden  rocks, 

And  the  wind  in  the  rigging,  the  creaking  of  the 

blocks, 
And  the  straining  of  the  timber  hulls. 

Delicate,  cool  sea-weeds,  green  and  amber-brown, 
In  beds  where  shaken  sunlight  slowly  filters  down 
On  many  a  drowned  seventy-four,  many  a  sunken 

town, 
And  the  whitening  of  the  dead  men's  skulls. 


6"4  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  SEA 

A  WIND  is  rustling  'south  and  soft,' 

Cooing  a  quiet  country  tune, 
The  calm  sea  sighs,  and  far  aloft 

The  sails  are  ghostly  in  the  moon. 

Unquiet  ripples  lisp  and  purr, 

A  block  there  pipes  and  chirps  i'  the  sheave, 
The  wheel-ropes  jar,  the  reef-points  stir 

Faintly — and  it  is  Christmas  Eve. 

The  hushed  sea  seems  to  hold  her  breath, 
And  o'er  the  giddy,  swaying  spars, 

Silent  and  excellent  as  Death, 

The  dim  blue  skies  are  bright  with  stars. 

Dear  God — they  shone  in  Palestine 
Like  this,  and  yon  pale  moon  serene 

Looked  down  among  the  lowing  kine 
On  Mary  and  the  Nazarene. 


CHRISTMAS    EVE   AT   SEA  65 

The  angels  called  from  deep  to  deep, 
The  burning  heavens  felt  the  thrill, 

Startling  the  flocks  of  silly  sheep 
And  lonely  shepherds  on  the  hill. 

To-night  beneath  the  dripping  bows 

Where  flashing  bubbles  burst  and  throng, 

The  bow-wash  murmurs  and  sighs  and  soughs 
A  message  from  the  angels'  song. 

The  moon  goes  nodding  down  the  west, 
The  drowsy  helmsman  strikes  the  bell; 

Rex  JudcEQrum  natus  est, 

I  charge  you,  brothers,  sing  Nowellf 
Nowell, 

Rex  Jud&orum  natus  est. 


66  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


A  BALLAD  OF  CAPE  ST.  VINCENT 

Now,  Bill,  ain't  it  prime  to  be  a-sailin', 

Slippin'  easy,  splashin'  up  the  sea, 
Dossin'  snug  aneath  the  weather-railin', 

Quiddin'  bonded  Jacky  out  a-lee? 
English  sea  astern  us  and  afore  us, 

Reaching  out  three  thousand  miles  ahead, 
God's  own  stars  a-risin'  solemn  o'er  us, 

And — yonder's     Cape     St.     Vincent     and     the 
Dead. 

There  they  lie,  Bill,  man  and  mate  together, 

Dreamin'  out  the  dog-watch  down  below, 
Anchored  in  the  Port  of  Pleasant  Weather, 

Waiting  for  the  Bo'suh's  call  to  blow. 
Over  them  the  tide  goes  lappin',  swayin', 

Under  them's  the  wide  bay's  muddy  bed, 
And    it's   pleasant   dreams — to    them — to   hear    us 
sayin', 

Yonder's  Cape  St.  Vincent  and  the  Dead. 


A    BALLAD    OF    CAPE    ST.    VINCENT    67 

Hear  that  P.  and  O.  boat's  engines  dronin', 

Beating  out  of  time  and  out  of  tune, 
Ripping  past  with  every  plate  a-groanin', 

Spitting  smoke  and  cinders  at  the  moon  ? 
Ports  a-lit  like  little  stars  a-settin', 

See  'em  glintin'  yaller,  green,  and  red, 
Loggin'  twenty  knots,  Bill, — but  forgettin', 

Yonder's  Cape  St.  Vincent  and  the  Dead. 

They're      'discharged'      now,      Billy,      'left      the 
service,' 

Rough  an'  bitter  was  the  watch  they  stood, 
Drake  an'  Blake,  an'  Collingwood  an'  Jervis, 

Nelson,  Rodney,  Hawke,  an'  Howe  an*  Hood. 
They'd  a  hard  time,  haulin'  an'  directin', 

There's  the  flag  they  left  us,  Billy — tread 
Straight  an'  keep  it  flyin' — recollectin', 

Yonder's  Cape  St.  Vincent  and  the  Dead. 


68  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


THE  TARRY  BUCCANEER 

I'M  going  to  be  a  pirate  with  a  bright  brass  pivot- 
gun, 

And   an   island   in  the  Spanish   Main   beyond  the 
setting  sun, 

And  a  silver  flagon  full  of  red  wine  to  drink  when 

work  is  done, 

Like  a  fine  old  salt-sea  scavenger,  like  a  tarry 
Buccaneer. 


With  a  sandy  creek  to  careen  in,  and  a  pig-tailed 

Spanish  mate, 
And    under   my    main-hatches   a   sparkling   merry 

freight 
Of  doubloons  and  double  moidores  and  pieces  of 

eight, 
Like  a  fine  old  salt-sea  scavenger,  like  a  tarry 

Buccaneer. 


THE   TARRY    BUCCANEER  69 

With  a  taste  for  Spanish  wine-shops  and  for  spend- 
ing my  doubloons, 

And   a   crew  of   swart   mulattoes    and   black-eyed 
octoroons, 

And  a  thoughtful  way  with  mutineers  of  making 

them  maroons, 

Like  a  fine  old  salt-sea  scavenger,  like  a  tarry 
Buccaneer. 


With  a  sash  of  crimson  velvet  and  a  diamond-hilted 

sword, 
And  a  silver  whistle  about  my  neck  secured  to  a 

golden  cord, 
And  a  habit  of  taking  captives  and  walking  them 

along  a  board, 
Like  a  fine  old  salt-sea  scavenger,  like  a  tarry 

Buccaneer. 


With  a  spy-glass  tucked  beneath  my  arm  and  a 

cocked  hat  cocked  askew, 
And  a  long  low  rakish  schooner  a-cutting  of  the 

waves  in  two, 


70  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

And  a  flag  of  skull  and  cross-bones  the  wickedest 

that  ever  flew, 

Like  a  fine  old  salt-sea  scavenger,  like  a  tarry 
Buccaneer. 


A   BALLAD    OF   JOHN    SILVER  71 


A  BALLAD  OF  JOHN  SILVER 

WE  were  schooner-rigged  and  rakish,  with  a  long 

and  lissome  hull, 
And  we  flew  the  pretty  colours  of  the  cross-bones 

and  the  skull; 
We'd  a  big  black  Jolly  Roger  flapping  grimly  at 

the  fore, 
And  we  sailed  the  Spanish  Water  in  the  happy  days 

of  yore. 

We'd  a  long  brass  gun  amidships,  like  a  well- 
conducted  ship, 

We  had  each  a  brace  of  pistols  and  a  cutlass  at  the 
hip; 

It's  a  point  which  tells  against  us,  and  a  fact  to  be 
deplored, 

But  we  chased  the  goodly  merchant-men  and  laid 
their  ships  aboard. 


72  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

Then  the  dead  men  fouled  the  scuppers  and  the 

wounded  filled  the  chains, 
And   the  paint-work   all  was  spatter-dashed   with 

other  people's  brains, 
She  was  boarded,  she  was  looted,  she  was  scuttled 

till  she  sank, 
And  the  pale  survivors  left  us  by  the  medium  of 

the  plank. 


O!  then  it  was  (while  standing  by  the  taffrail  on 

the  poop) 
We  could  hear  the  drowning  folk  lament  the  absent 

chicken-coop; 
Then,  having  washed  the  blood  away,  we'd  little 

else  to  do 
Than  to  dance  a  quiet  hornpipe  as  the  old  salts 

taught  us  to. 


O!   the   fiddle   on   the   fo'c's'le,    and   the  slapping 

naked  soles, 
And    the    genial    'Down    the    middle,    Jake,    and 

curtsey  when  she  rolls!' 


A   BALLAD   OF  JOHN   SILVER  73 

With  the  silver  seas  around  us  and  the  pale  moon 

overhead, 
And  the  look-out  not  a-looking  and  his  pipe-bowl 

glowing  red. 


Ah!  the  pig-tailed,  quidding  pirates  and  the  pretty 

pranks  we  played, 
All  have  since  been  put  a  stop-to  by  the  naughty 

Board  of  Trade; 
The  schooners  and  the  merry  crews  are  laid  away 

to  rest, 
A  little  south   the  sunset  in   the   Islands  of   the 

Blest. 


74  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


LYRICS  FROM  'THE  BUCCANEER' 


WE  are  far  from  sight  of  the  harbour  lights, 
Of  the  sea-ports  whence  we  came, 

But  the  old  sea  calls  and  the  cold  wind  bites, 
And  our  hearts  are  turned  to  flame. 


And  merry  and  rich  is  the  goodly  gear 
We'll  win  upon  the  tossing  sea, 

A  silken  gown  for  my  dainty  dear, 
And  a  gold  doubloon  for  me. 


It's  the  old  old  road  and  the  old  old  quest 
Of  the  cut-throat  sons  of  Cain, 

South  by  west  and  a  quarter  west, 
And  hey  for  the  Spanish  Main. 


LYRICS   FROM    'THE    BUCCANEER'      75 


THERE'S  a  sea-way  somewhere  where  all  day  long 

Is  the  hushed  susurrus  of  the  sea, 
The  mewing  of  the  skuas,  and  the  sailor's  song, 

And  the  wind's  cry  calling  me. 

There's  a  haven  somewhere  where  the  quiet  of  the 

bay 

Is  troubled  with  the  shifting  tide, 
Where  the  gulls  are  flying,  crying  in  the  bright 

white  spray, 
And  the  tan-sailed  schooners  ride. 


76  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


III 

THE  toppling  rollers  at  the  harbour  mouth 

Are  spattering  the  bows  with  foam, 
And  the  anchor's  catted,  and  she's  heading  for  the 
south 

With  her  topsails  sheeted  home. 

And  a  merry  measure  is  the  dance  she'll  tread 
(To  the  clanking  of  the  staysail's  hanks) 

When  the  guns  are  growling  and  the  blood  runs 

red, 
And  the  prisoners  are  walking  of  the  planks. 


D'AVALOS'    PRAYER  77 


D'AVALOS'  PRAYER 

WHEN  the  last  sea  is  sailed  and  the  last  shallow 

charted, 
When  the  last  field  is  reaped  and  the  last  harvest 

stored, 

When  the  last  fire  is  out  and  the  last  guest  departed, 
Grant  the  last  prayer  that  I  shall  pray,  Be  good 
to  me,  O  Lord ! 


And  let  me  pass  in  a  night  at  sea,  a  night  of  storm 

and  thunder, 
In  the  loud  crying  of  the  wind  through  sail  and 

rope  and  spar; 
Send  me  a  ninth  great  peaceful  wave  to  drown  and 

roll  me  under 

To  the  cold  tunny-fishes'  home  where  the  drowned 
galleons  are. 


78  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

And  in  the  dim  green  quiet  place  far  out  of  sight 

and  hearing, 
Grant  I  may  hear  at  whiles  the  wash  and  thresh 

of  the  sea-foam 
About  the  fine  keen  bows  of  the  stately  clippers 

steering 

Towards  the  lone  northern  star  and  the  fair  ports 
of  home. 


THE    WEST    WIND  79 


THE  WEST  WIND 

IT'S  a  warm  wind,  the  west  wind,  full  of  birds' 

cries  ; 
I  never  hear  the  west  wind  but  tears  are  in  my 

eyes. 
For  it  comes  from  the  west  lands,  the  old  brown 

hills, 
And  April's  in  the  west  wind,  and  daffodils. 


It's  a  fine  land,  the  west  land,  for  hearts  as  tired  as 

mine, 
Apple  orchards  blossom  there,  and  the  air's  like 

wine. 
There  is  cool  green  grass  there,  where  men  may  lie 

at  rest, 
And  the  thrushes  are  in  song  there,  fluting  from  the 

nest. 


8o  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

'Will  ye  not  come  home,  brother?  ye  have  been 

long  away, 

It's  April,  and  blossom  time,  and  white  is  the  may  ; 
And  bright  is  the  sun,  brother,  and  warm  is  the 

rain, — 
Will  ye  not  come  home,  brother,  home  to  us  again  ? 

'The    young   corn    is    green,    brother,    where    the 

rabbits  run, 
It's  blue  sky,  and  white  clouds,  and  warm  rain  and 

sun. 
It's  song  to  a  man's  soul,  brother,  fire  to  a  man's 

brain, 
To  hear  the  wild  bees  and  see  the  merry  spring 

again. 

'Larks  are  singing  in  the  west,  brother,  above  the 

green  wheat, 
So  will  ye  not  come  ho'me,  brother,  and  rest  your 

tired  feet? 
I've  a  balm  for  bruised  hearts,  brother,  sleep  for 

aching  eyes,' 
Says  the  warm  wind,  the  west  wind,  full  of  birds' 

cries. 


THE    WEST    WIND  81 

It's  the  white  road  westwards  is  the  road  I  must 

tread 
To  the  green  grass,   the  cool  grass,  and   rest  for 

heart  and  head, 
To  the  violets  and  the  warm  hearts  and  the  thrushes' 

song, 
In  the  fine  land,  the  west  land,  the  land  where  I 

belong. 


82  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


THE  GALLEY-ROWERS 

STAGGERING  over  the  running  combers 

The  long-ship  heaves  her  dripping  flanks, 
Singing  together,  the  sea-roamers 

Drive  the  oars  grunting  in  the  banks. 
A  long  pull, 
And  a  long  long  pull  to  Mydath. 


'Where  are  ye  bound,  ye  swart  sea-farers, 
Vexing  the  grey  wind-angered  brine, 

Bearers  of  home-spun  cloth,  and  bearers 
Of  goat-skins  filled  with  country  wine?' 


'We  are  bound  sunset-wards,  not  knowing, 
Over  the  whale's  way  miles  and  miles, 

Going  to  Vine-Land,  haply  going 

To  the  Bright  Beach  of  the  Blessed  Isles. 


THE   GALLEY   ROWERS  83 

'In  the  wind's  teeth  and  the  spray's  stinging 

Westward  and  outward  forth  we  go, 
Knowing  not  whither  nor  why,  but  singing 
An  old  old  oar-song  as  we  row. 
A  long  pull, 
And  a  long  long  pull  to  Mydath.' 


84  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


SORROW  OF  MYDATH 

WEARY  the  cry  of  the  wind  is,  weary  the  sea, 
Weary  the  heart  and  the  mind  and  the  body  of  me. 
Would  I  were  out  of  it,  done  with  it,  would   I 

could  be 
A  white  gull  crying  along  the  desolate  sands! 

Outcast,  derelict  soul  in  a  body  accurst, 

Standing    drenched    with    the    spindrift,    standing 

athirst, 
For  the  cool  green  waves  of  death  to  arise  and 

burst 
In  a  tide  of  quiet  for  me  on  the  desolate  sands. 

Would  that  the  waves  and  the  long  white  hair  of  the 

spray 

Would  gather  in  splendid  terror  and  blot  me  away 
To  the  sunless  place  of  the  wrecks  where  the  waters 

sway 
Gently,  dreamily,  quietly  over  desolate  sands! 


VAGABOND  85 


VAGABOND 

DUNNO  a  heap  about  the  what  an'  why, 

Can't  say's  I  ever  knowed. 
Heaven  to  me's  a  fair  blue  stretch  of  sky, 

Earth's  jest  a  dusty  road. 

Dunno  the  names  o'  things,  nor  what  they  are, 

Can't  say's  I  ever  will. 
Dunno  about  God — he's  jest  the  noddin'  star 

Atop  the  windy  hill. 

Dunno  about  Life — it's  jest  a  tramp  alone 

From  wakin'-time  to  doss. 
Dunno  about  Death — it's  jest  a  quiet  stone 

All  over-grey  wi'  moss. 

An'  why  I  live,  an'  why  the  old  world  spins, 

Are  things  I  never  knowed ; 
My  mark's  the  gypsy  fires,  the  lonely  inns, 

An'  jest  the  dusty  road. 


86  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


VISION 

I  HAVE  drunken  the  red  wine  and  flung  the  dice; 
Yet  once  in  the  noisy  ale-house  I  have  seen  and 

heard 
The  dear  pale  lady  with  the  mournful  eyes, 

And   a  voice  like  that  of   a  pure   grey   cooing 
bird. 


With   delicate  white  hands — white  hands  that   I 

have  kist 
(Oh  frail  white  hands!) — she  soothed  my  aching 

eyes  ; 
And   her  hair   fell   about   her   in   a   dim   clinging 

mist, 

Like   smoke   from   a   golden   incense   burned    in 
Paradise. 


VISION  87 

With  gentle  loving  words,  like  shredded  balm  and 

myrrh, 
She    healed    with    sweet    forgiveness    my    black 

bitter  sins, 

Then  passed  into  the  night,  and  I  go  seeking  her 
Down  the  dark,  silent  streets,  past  the  warm, 
lighted  inns. 


88  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


SPUNYARN 

SPUNYARN,  spunyarn,  with  one  to  turn  the  crank, 
And  one  to  slather  the  spunyarn,  and  one  to  knot 

the  hank; 
It's  an  easy  job  for  a  summer  watch,  and  a  pleasant 

job  enough, 
To  twist  the  tarry  lengths  of  yarn  to  shapely  sailor 

stuff. 

Life  is  nothing  but  spunyarn  on  a  winch  in  need  of 

oil, 
Little  enough   is  twined   and  spun   but   fever-fret 

and  moil. 
I  have  travelled  on  land  and  sea,  and  all  that  I 

have  found 
Are  these  poor  songs  to  brace  the  arms  that  help 

the  winches  round. 


THE    DEAD    KNIGHT  89 


THE   DEAD   KNIGHT 

THE  cleanly  rush  of  the  mountain  air, 
And  the  mumbling,  grumbling  humble-bees, 
Are  the  only  things  that  wander  there, 
The  pitiful  bones  are  laid  at  ease, 
The  grass  has  grown  in  his  tangled  hair, 
And  a  rambling  bramble  binds  his  knees. 


To  shrieve  his  soul  from  the  pangs  of  hell, 
The  only  requiem-bells  that  rang 
Were  the  hare-bell  and  the  heather-bell. 
Hushed  he  is  with  the  holy  spell 
In  the  gentle  hymn  the  wind  sang, 
And  he  lies  quiet,  and  sleeps  well. 


He   is   bleached   and   blanched   with   the  summer 

sun; 
The  misty  rain  and  the  cold  dew 


90  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

Have  altered  him  from  the  kingly  one 
(That  his  lady  loved,  and  his  men  knew) 
And  dwindled  him  to  a  skeleton. 

The  vetches  have  twined  about  his  bones, 

The  straggling  ivy  twists  and  creeps 

In  his  eye-sockets;  the  nettle  keeps 

Vigil  about  him  while  he  sleeps. 

Over  his  body  the  wind  means 

With  a  dreary  tune  throughout  the  day, 

In  a  chorus  wistful,  eerie,  thin 

As  the  gull's  cry — as  the  cry  in  the  bay, 

The  mournful  word  the  seas  say 

When  tides  are  wandering  out  or  in. 


PERSONAL  91 


PERSONAL 

TRAMPING  at  night  in  the  cold  and  wet,  I  passed 

the  lighted  inn, 
And  an  old  tune,  a  sweet  tune,  was  being  played 

within. 
It  was  full  of  the  laugh  of  the  leaves  and  the  song 

the  wind  sings; 
It  brought  the  tears  and  the  choked  throat,  and  a 

catch  to  the  heart-strings. 

And  it  brought  a  bitter  thought  of  the  days  that 

now  were  dead  to  me, 
The  merry  days  in  the  old  home  before  I  went  to 

sea — 
Days  that  were  dead  to  me  indeed.     I  bowed  my 

head  to  the  rain, 
And  I  passed  by  the  lighted  inn  to  the  lonely  roads 

again. 


92  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


ON  MALVERN  HILL 

A  WIND  is  brushing  down  the  clover, 
It  sweeps  the  tossing  branches  bare, 

Blowing  the  poising  kestrel  over 

The  crumbling  ramparts  of  the  Caer. 

It  whirls  the  scattered  leaves  before  us 
Along  the  dusty  road  to  home, 

Once  it  awakened  into  chorus 

The  heart-strings  in  the  ranks  of  Rome. 

There  by  the  gusty  coppice  border 
The  shrilling  trumpets  broke  the  halt, 

The  Roman  line,  the  Roman  order, 
Swayed  forwards  to  the  blind  assault. 

Spearman  and  charioteer  and  bowman 
Charged  and  were  scattered  into  spray, 

Savage  and  taciturn  the  Roman 

Hewed  upwards  in  the  Roman  way. 


ON    MALVERN    HILL  93 

There — in  the  twilight — where  the  cattle 

Are  lowing  home  across  the  fields, 
The  beaten  warriors  left  the  battle 

Dead  on  the  clansmen's  wicker  shields. 

The  leaves  whirl  in  the  wind's  riot 
Beneath  the  Beacon's  jutting  spur, 

Quiet  are  clan  and  chief,  and  quiet 
Centurion  and  signifer. 


94  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


TEWKESBURY   ROAD 

IT  is  good  to  be  out  on  the  road,  and  going  one 

knows  not  where, 
Going  through  meadow  and  village,  one  knows 

not  whither  nor  why  ; 
Through  the  grey  light  drift  of  the  dust,  in  the 

keen  cool  rush  of  the  air, 

Under  the  flying  white  clouds,   and  the  broad 
blue  lift  of  the  sky; 


And  to  halt  at  the  chattering  brook,   in  the  tall 

green  fern  at  the  brink 
Where  the  harebell '  grows,  and  the  gorse,  and 

the  fox-gloves  purple  and  white ; 
Where  the  shy-eyed  delicate  deer  troop  down  to 

the  pools  to  drink, 

When   the  stars   are   mellow   and   large   at   the 
coming  on  of  the  night. 


TEWKESBURY   ROAD  95 

O!  to  feel  the  warmth  of  the  rain,  and  the  homely 

smell  of  the  earth, 
Is  a  tune  for  the  blood  to  jig  to,   a  joy  past 

power  of  words; 
And  the  blessed  green  comely  meadows  seem  all 

a-ripple  with  mirth 

At  the  lilt  of  the  shifting  feet,   and   the   dear 
wild  cry  of  the  birds. 


96  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


ON    EASTNOR   KNOLL 

SILENT  are  the  woods,  and  the  dim  green  boughs  are 
Hushed  in  the  twilight:  yonder,  in  the  path  through 
The  apple  orchard,  is  a  tired  plough-boy 
Calling  the  cows  home. 

A  bright  white  star  blinks,  the  pale  moon  rounds,  but 
Still  the  red,  lurid  wreckage  of  the  sunset 
Smoulders  in  smoky  fire,  and  burns  on 
The  misty  hill-tops. 

Ghostly  it  grows,  and  darker,  the  burning 
Fades  into  smoke,  and  now  the  gusty  oaks  are 
A  silent  army  of  phantoms  thronging 
A  land  of  shadows. 


'REST   HER   SOUL,    SHE'S    DEAD!'        97 


'REST  HER  SOUL,  SHE'S  DEAD' 

SHE    has    done    with    the   sea's    sorrow    and    the 

world's  way 
And  the  wind's  grief; 
Strew  her  with  laurel,  cover  her  with  bay 

And  ivy-leaf. 

Let  the  slow  mournful  music  sound  before  her, 
Strew    the    white    flowers    about    the    bier,    and 

o'er  her 
The  sleepy  poppies  red  beyond  belief. 


On  the  black  velvet  covering  her  eyes 
Let  the  dull  earth  be  thrown  ; 

Hers  is  the  mightier  silence  of  the  skies, 
And  long,  quiet  rest  alone. 

Over  the  pure,  dark,  wistful  eyes  of  her, 

O'er  all  the  human,  all  that  dies  of  her, 
Gently  let  flowers  be  strown. 


98  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

Lay  her  away  in  quiet  old  peaceful  earth 

(This  blossom  of  ours), 

She   has   done   with    the   world's   anger    and    the 
world's  mirth, 

Sunshine  and  rain-showers; 
And  over  the  poor,  sad,  tired  face  of  her, 
In  the  long  grass  above  the  place  of  her 
(The  grass  which  hides  the  glory  and  the  grace 
of  her), 

May  the  Spring  bring  the  flowers. 


'ALL   YE   THAT    PASS    BY'  99 


'ALL  YE  THAT  PASS  BY' 

ON  the  long  dusty  ribbon  of  the  long  city  street, 
The  pageant  of  life  is  passing  me  on  multitudinous 

feet, 
With  a  word  here  of  the  hills,  and  a  song  there  of 

the  sea, 
And — the  great  movement   changes — the   pageant 

passes  me. 

Faces — passionate  faces — of  men  I  may  not  know, 
They  haunt  me,  burn  me  to  the  heart,  as  I  turn 

aside  to  go: 
The  king's  face  and  the  cur's  face,  and  the  face  of 

the  stuffed  swine, 
They  are  passing,  they  are  passing,  their  eyes  look 

into  mine. 


ioo  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

I  never  can  tire  of  the  music  of  the  noise  of  many 

feet, 
The  thrill  of  the  blood  pulsing,  the  tick  of  the 

heart's  beat, 
Of  the  men  many  as  sands,  of  the  squadrons  ranked 

and  massed 
Who  are  passing,  changing  always,  and  never  have 

changed  or  passed. 


IN   MEMORY   OF  A.  P.   R.  101 


IN  MEMORY  OF  A.  P.  R. 

ONCE  in  the  windy  wintry  weather, 

The  road  dust  blowing  in  our  eyes, 
We  starved  or  tramped  or  slept  together 

Beneath  the  haystacks  and  the  skies; 

Until  the  tiring  tramp  was  over, 

And  then  the  call  for  him  was  blown, 

He  left  his  friend — his  fellow-rover — 
To  tramp  the  dusty  roads  alone. 

The  winds  wail  and  the  woods  are  yellow, 

The  hills  are  blotted  in  the  rain, 
'And  would  he  were  with  me,'  sighs  his  fellow, 

'With  me  upon  the  roads  again !' 


102  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


TO-MORROW 

OH  yesterday  the  cutting  edge  drank  thirstily  and 

deep, 
The  upland  outlaws  ringed  us  in  and  herded  us  as 

sheep, 

They  drove  us  from  the  stricken  field  and  bayed  us 
into  keep; 

But  to-morrow 
By  the  living  God,  we'll  try  the  game  again ! 


Oh  yesterday  our  little  troop  was  ridden  through 

and  through, 
Our  swaying,  tattered  pennons  fled,  a  broken,  beaten 

few, 

And  all  a  summer  afternoon  they  hunted  us  and 
slew ; 

But  to-morrow, 
By  the  living  God,  we'll  try  the  game  again! 


TO-MORROW  103 

And  here  upon  the  turret-top  the  bale-fire  glowers 

red, 
The  wake-lights  burn  and  drip  about  our  hacked, 

disfigured  dead, 

And   many   a   broken   heart   is  here   and   many   a 
broken  head ; 

But  to-morrow, 
By  the  living  God,  we'll  try  the  game  again! 


104  SALT-WATER    BALLABS 


CAVALIER 

ALL    the    merry    kettle-drums    are    thudding    into 

rhyme, 

Dust  is  swimming  dizzily  down  the  village  street, 
The  scabbards  are  clattering,  the  feathers  nodding 

time, 

To  a  clink  of  many  horses'  shoes,  a  tramp  of  many 
feet. 

Seven  score  of  Cavaliers  fighting  for  the  King, 
Trolling  lusty  stirrup-songs,  clamouring  for  wine, 

Riding  with  a  loose  rein,  marching  with  a  swing, 
Beneath    the   blue   bannerol   of    Rupert   of    the 
Rhine. 

Hey  the  merry  company; — the  loud  fifes  playing — 
Blue  scarves  and  bright  steel  and  blossom  of  the 
may, 


CAVALIER  105 

Roses    in    the    feathered    hats,    the    long    plumes 

swaying, 

A  king's  son  ahead  of  them  showing  them  the 
way. 


106  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 


A  SONG  AT  PARTING 

THE  tick  of  the  blood  is  settling  slow,  my  heart  will 

soon  be  still, 
And  ripe  and  ready  am  I  for  rest  in  the  grave  atop 

the  hill ; 
So  gather  me  up  and  lay  me  down,  for  ready  and 

ripe  am  I, 
For  the  weary  vigil  with  sightless  eyes  that  may 

not  see  the  sky. 


I  have  lived  my  life:    I  have  spilt  the  wine  that 

God  the  Maker  gave, 
So  carry  me  up  the  lonely  hill  and  lay  me  in  the 

grave, 
And  cover  me  in  with  cleanly  mould  and  old  and 

lichened  stones, 
In  a  place  where  ever  the  cry  of  the  wind  shall 

thrill  my  sleepy  bones. 


A   SONG   AT   PARTING  107 

Gather  me  up  and  lay  me  down  with  an  old  song 

and  a  prayer, 
Cover  me  in  with  wholesome  earth,  and  weep  and 

leave  me  there  ; 
And  get  you  gone  with  a  kindly  thought  and  an 

old  tune  and  a  sigh, 
And  leave  me  alone,  asleep,  at  rest,  for  ready  and 

ripe  am  I. 


GLOSSARY 

Abaft  the  beam. — That  half  of  a  ship  included  between 
her  amidship  section  and  the  taffrail.  (For  'taffrail,' 
see  below.) 

Abel  Brown. — An  unquotable  sea-song. 

Advance-note. — A  note  for  one  month's  wages  issued  to 
sailors  on  their  signing  a  ship's  articles. 

Belaying-pins. — Bars  of  iron  or  hard  wood  to  which 
running  rigging  may  be  secured  or  belayed. 

Belaying-pins,  from  their  handiness  and  peculiar 
club-shape,  are  sometimes  used  as  bludgeons. 

Bloody. — An  intensive  derived  from  the  substantive 
'blood,'  a  name  applied  to  the  Bucks,  Scowrers,  and 
Mohocks  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  cen- 
turies. 

Blue  Peter. — A  blue  and  white  flag  hoisted  at  the  fore- 
trucks  of  ships  about  to  sail. 

Bollard. — From  bol  or  bole,  the  round  trunk  of  a  tree. 
A  phallic  or  'sparklet'-shaped  ornament  of  the  dock- 
side,  of  assistance  to  mariners  in  warping  into  or 
out  of  dock. 

Bonded  Jacky. — Negro-head  tobacco  or  sweet  cake. 

Bull  of  Barney. — A  beast  mentioned  in  an  unquotable 
sea-proverb. 

Bumpkin. — An  iron  bar  (projecting  out-board  from  the 
ship's  side)  to  which  the  lower  and  topsail  brace 
blocks  are  sometimes  hooked. 

109 


no  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

Cape  Horn  fever. — The  illness  proper  to  malingerers. 

Catted. — Said  of  an  anchor  when  weighed  and  secured 
to  the  'cat-head.' 

Chanty. — A  song  sung  to  lighten  labour  at  the  capstan 
sheets,  and  halliards.  The  soloist  is  known  as  the 
chanty-man,  and  is  usually  a  person  of  some  author- 
ity in  the  fo'c's'le.  Many  chanties  are  of  great 
beauty  and  extreme  antiquity. 

Clipper-bow. — A  bow  of  delicate  curves  and  lines. 

Clout. — A  rag  or  cloth.  Also  a  blow : — T  fetched  him  a 
clout  i'  the  lug.' 

Crimp. — A  sort  of  scoundrelly  land-shark  preying  upon 
sailors. 

D.B.S. — Distressed  British  Sailor.  A  term  applied  to 
those  who  are  invalided  home  from  foreign  ports. 

Dungaree. — A  cheap,  rough  thin  cloth  (generally  blue 
or  brown),  woven,  I  am  told,  of  coco-nut  fibre. 

Forward  or  Forrard. — Towards  the  bows. 

Fo'c's'le  {Forecastle}. — The  deck-house  or  living-room 
of  the  crew.  The  word  is  often  used  to  indicate 
the  crew,  or  those  members  of  it  described  by  pas- 
sengers as  the  'common  sailors.' 

Fore-stay. — A  powerful  wire  rope  supporting  the  fore- 
mast forward. 

Gaskets. — Ropes  or  plaited  lines  used  to  secure  the  sails 

in  furling. 

Goneys. — Albatrosses. 
Guffy. — A  marine  or  jolly. 
Gullies. — Sea-gulls,  Cape  Horn  pigeons,  etc. 


GLOSSARY  in 

Heave  and  pawl. — A  cry  of  encouragement  at  the  cap- 
stan. 

Hooker. — A  periphrasis  for  ship,  I  suppose  from  a 
ship's  carrying  hooks  or  anchors. 

Jack  or  Jackstay. — A  slender  iron  rail  running  along 
the  upper  portions  of  the  yards  in  some  ships. 

Leeward. — Pronounced  'looard.'  That  quarter  to  which 
the  wind  blows. 

Mainsail  haul. — An  order  in  tacking  ship  bidding 
'swing  the  mainyards.'  To  loot,  steal,  or  'acquire.' 

Main-shrouds. — Ropes,  usually  wire,  supporting  lateral 
strains  upon  the  mainmast. 

Mollies. — Molly-hawks,  or  Fulmar  petrels.  Wide- 
winged  dusky  sea-fowls,  common  in  high  latitudes, 
oily  to  taste,  gluttonous.  Great  fishers  and  gar- 
bage-eaters. 

Port  Mahon  Baboon,  or  Port  Mahon  Soger. — I  have 
been  unable  to  discover  either  the  origin  of  these 
insulting  epithets  or  the  reasons  for  the  peculiar 
bitterness  with  which  they  sting  the  marine  re- 
cipient. They  are  older  than  Dana  (circa  1840). 

An  old  merchant  sailor,  now  dead,  once  told  me 
that  Port  Mahon  was  that  godless  city  from  which 
the  Ark  set  sail,  in  which  case  the  name  may  have 
some  traditional  connection  with  that  evil  'Mahoun' 
or  'Mahu,'  prince  of  darkness,  mentioned  by 
Shakespeare  and  some  of  our  older  poets. 

The  real  Port  Mahon,  a  fine  harbour  in  Minorca, 


112  SALT-WATER    BALLADS 

was  taken  by  the  French,  from  Admiral  Byng,  in 
the  year  1756. 

I  think  that  the  phrases  originated  at  the  time  of 
Byng's  consequent  trial  and  execution. 
Purchase. — See  'Tackle.' 

Q  uidding. — Tobacco-chewing. 

Sails. — The  sail-maker. 

Santa  Cruz. — A  brand  of  rum. 

Scantling. — Planks. 

Soger. — A  laggard,  malingerer,  or  hang-back.  To  loaf 
or  skulk  or  work  Tom  Cox's  Traverse. 

Spunyarn. — A  three-strand  line  spun  out  of  old  rope- 
yarns  knotted  together.  Most  sailing-ships  carry  a 
spunyarn  winch,  and  the  spinning  of  such  yarn  is  a 
frvourite  occupation  in  fine  weather. 

Stirrup. — A  short  rope  supporting  the  foot-rope  on 
which  the  sailors  stand  when  aloft  on  the  yards. 

Tack. — To  stay  or  'bout  ship.     A  reach  to  windward. 

The  weather  lower  corner  of  a  course. 
Tackle. — Pronounced  taykle.    A  combination  of  pulleys 

for  obtaining  of  artificial  power. 
Taffrail. — The  rail  or  bulwark  round  the  sternmost  end 

of  a  ship's  poop  or  after-deck. 
Trick. — The  ordinary  two-hour  spell  at  the  wheel  or  on 

the  look-out. 

Windward  or  Weather. — That  quarter  from  which  the 
wind  blows. 


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